Familia Primum
by Ladymadonna1899
Summary: He was clenching the small bathroom vanity so hard his knuckles were white with pressure. His messy black bangs were teeming with sweat that was slowly dripping down his face and into the immaculately white sink. Harsh, pained breaths escaped the juvenile. What was going on? And why did he look like Tom Riddle?
1. You'd be Great

**Salutations, just a quick AN, this chapter isn't that well written. It was just meant to give an insight to Harry's way of thinking, during the story, you might say. In this story Harry is already the epitome of Slytherin. As you can see how he chooses to go to Gryffindor instead of Slytherin. So, yeha enjoy, the next chapter is the story and what the summary actually refers to. This is pretty much a bonus chapter.**

"Harry Potter!" called McGonagall

A small boy, with messy, raven hair and emerald eyes, that shown like the color of death trudged elegantly up to the stool seated toward the front of the Great Hall, looking down imposingly at the rest of the student body.

The petite looking boy placed the Sorting Hat on top of his messy hair and sat on the stool.

"_Ah Mr.…Potter, a pleasant surprise, so many have been anticipating your arrival, young Savior_," the hat, to Harry's emanate surprise, whispered. He frowned uncertain to trust the animated hat. "_No need for dramatics boy, I'm here to sort and nothing more…my my don't we have some secrets here Golden boy…" _the hat mentioned.

" _I am nobody's Savior nor am I anyone's Golden Boy!" _snapped Harry, "_Do your Sorting, hat before I lose the minuet amount of patience I posses!" _He hissed.

"_No need to be snappy young one. No no defiantly not Hufflepuff, I fear what would become of that house if you were placed there. Ravenclaw perhaps? You have a drive for knowledge like no other, but alas you are much too cunning for Helena's house. No, your determination to strive out shines all; you are very resourceful little one are you not. Yes, __you'll make your real friends there, very ambitiou-" _

"_Not Slytherin," _Harry cut in harshly.

"_Why ever not its all here, in your head, you'd be great –"_

"_But watched, all the time, they would be suspicious of me, hat. They'd always be watching, the evil Savior, just imagine! Place me where a hero would go, your medial Savior. Perhaps Gryffindor; were the brave dwell at heart…hmm, yes Gryffindor, the public wouldn't concern themselves with me then, I would do no wrong." _Suggested Harry.

"_Your quite sure aren't you, young one. You'd have to be determined, very much so. For I fear, the Lions would rip you apart,"_

"_Don't worry I will be, it's high time the Lions got bitten by the snakes fangs,"_

"_hmm…very cunning Mr. Potter, just like your father, if your sure better be…"_

"_-wait wha-"_

"Gryffindor!" the hat shouted.

The small boy jumped off the chair and handed the worn hat to Minerva, who had a proud glint in her stern eyes.

_Please Review, your feedback is sorely appreciated!_


	2. An inheritance of sorts?

Familia primum

He was clenching the small bathroom vanity so hard his knuckles were white with pressure. His messy black bangs were teeming with sweat that was slowly dripping down his face and into the immaculately white sink. Harsh, pained breaths escaped the juvenile. The air racing in and out of his lungs, scratching his already snafued throat.

His emerald eyes, apparently an un-canny likeness to his late mothers filled with such a look of excruciating agony, it would be enough to make most cringe. The young man, Harry had been confined to the small bathroom at no. 4 Pivet Drive for a numerous amount of hours, ever since the clock had struck 12:00am signalizing the early morning of the 31st of July. Harry Potter's apparent 15th birthday.

The day before had gone extremely well, as well as a day at the Dursleys could possible be. Harry customarily had trudged down the narrow stairs at dawn, careful though not to wake the self-centered residents of the household and made a bountiful English breakfast. Vernon lumbered in with his usual girth and sat down on the worn dinner chair, nearly knocking his plate off the table, as he didn't allow for his steadily growing belly. With his chronic grunt he began to dig in, using table manners rivaling that of Ronald Weasley. Vernon was followed by Petunia, looking as impeccable as the horse-faced bitch could manage and Dudley Dursley. Dudley, the wee walrus stumbled in clutching his head and with his eye's completely bloodshot. Obliviously suffering from a big night out on the town.

Though the two elder Dursleys were completely oblivious to the state of their precious Diddykins. He was perfection in their eyes. If their lump of a son was considered normal, Harry was quite content being magical. Maybe they would realize that Dudley wasn't so consummate when he died of a muggle heartache due to his enduring grotesque behavior. But to no avail, knowing his dear aunt and uncle, if their dear Dudders was to… unfortunately pass through the veil, they'd pick anyone to blame but themselves or Ickle Diddykins.

And so Harry watched on with a sneer that would make Lucius Malfoy proud. Disgust clearly evident on his petite face.

Once breakfast had finished he cleaned the gunk and filth still residing on the 'fine' china, from the repulsive creatures and continued to make a lavish lunch of sandwiches. Harry then begrudgingly completed the immoderate amount of chores he had to finish before he could have his measly amount of calorie intact for the day, two slices of bread a piece of cheese and a glass of water.

By 5:30pm he had done the excessive amount housework, dehydrated and famished he ate the food as if he wouldn't be able to eat for days. Which was likely to eventuate. So with the final crumbs inhaled off the plate and the last drip of water drained from the cup he set them on his shabby bedside table and looked around his threadbare room. Exhaling in anger he shifted off the tatted bed and picked up _'Dark Art's - Medicinal Uses and Rituals', _he had been reviewing from the night before. Pulling out a spare parchment and quill continued to copy down the interesting passage he had been copying down last evening.

' – _Twisting the block bowel to un-block the circumvention, can result in the desired effect. Un- blocking and clearing the bowel or in you use the common wand movement no.9 instead of no.4 you have the ability the sever the bowel and expel the repulsive acid residing inside, slowly burning the body's entrails from the inside. Resulting in a excruciatingly slow painful death. Counter course pg.56 more information on bowel and intestine offensive spells.87 –'_

All the while writing the passage down Harry had a sadistic smile on his face. Such a smile was caused by the explicit image of using the handy curse on his esteemed uncle Vernon.

He continued to write passages from the old tome for many hours but paused briefly we he started to feel tingling in his hands and trailing up his arms, but dismissed it as sitting and writing to long.

Though that probably wasn't the most astute idea, because the tingling sensation continued to travel throughout his body at it neared 12:00am.

Siting down for his customary count down to his Birthday he looked down at his haggard digital watch as the electric numbers neared midnight.

_11:57_

_11:58_

_11:59…_

_12:00_

With a silent nod to himself, acknowledging the day he came out of his mother's uterus he climbed into his 'bed' and into his well-worn sheets. Closing his eyes and placing his out dated, clichéd glasses on the bedside, presided to close his eyes.

He laid there for a few minutes, silently musing to himself out the pins in needles running underneath his skin, up and down his body. Though abruptly, the feeling escalated to that of a pain a weak _crucio, _it was enough for Harry to gasp out with the unanticipated pain that coursed through his body.

The pain slowly escalated: which had him groaning out in pain, not too loud as to wake the brutes next door. He needed to get out of the stuffy room, the heat was making it worse, he threw off his sheets and shirt, roughly grabbed his glasses and stumbling toward the door, praying to Merlin that Vernon hadn't locked the locks on the door. He wasn't keen on using up his wandless magic supplies before tomorrow, as he was fairly certain tomorrow would bring copious amounts of ridicule from the varmints.

Sending a silent blessing to Salazar Harry walked to the bathroom down the end of the hall and opened the door. Breathing in the fresh breeze that flowed through the open window. He rushed to the vanity.

This is where he was currently standing, his knuckles white with pressure. His messy black bangs were teeming with sweat and harsh, pained breaths escaping him. The air racing in and out of his lungs, scratching his already snafued throat.

Harry looked at himself in the mirror and imagined this was like a marathon runner would look after a running fairly enduring distance. His whole face was clammy with sweat and his round cheeks a flame, as if a fever were about to brake. Abruptly another wave of pain engulfed him forcing him to drop to his knees. He barely had enough time to stuff a bath towel in his mouth in an attempt to quiescent his scream. Thankfully though it came out nearly inaudibly.

He was now on the cold tile floor, is body curled in the fetal position. There were a little marks of blood on the floor he was unable to identify from where they came from. They were smudged marking the perfect white tiles and filling the bathroom with a coppery smell.

But still he lay there unable to move his aching limbs and shaking in pain. To his horror the pain began again. He felt as if his four limbs were being pulled from their sockets and to his panic and alarm he watched his fingers stretch to an unbelievable length and click into place. The same process happened to his legs, torso and upper body.

Slowly the pain began to dull. Harry didn't know how long he lay there, still shaking as if from after shocks. His ragged breaths slowed to a reasonable healthy pace. Harry opened his eyes and looked to his rising and falling chest. He looked excessively gaunter than he did mere minutes ago, he could count each and every one of his 24 ribs. His legs and arms saved by whatever muscle he had accumulated from playing Quidditch. And to his growing bewilderment he could see impeccably without the use of his hideous glasses.

Slowly but steadily Harry stood up grasping the side of the shower door and heaved upward. He marveled at his beautiful pallid skin.

_Maybe an inheritance of sorts?_

Fortunately no, it was not. He hadn't grown long, sharp canines or turned into a semi-wolf like creature. No. Busy stretching a cracking his new, longer limbs into place he turned to the body length mirror at the corner of the bathroom.

His breath hitched in his throat.

A very distinguishable handsome face was staring back at him. This well sculptured face had high prominent cheekbones as if made from glass, classical arched cynical eyebrows, and a slightly upturned nose and wavy obsidian hair cupping his angular face.

Features that belonged to one Tom Marvolo Riddle. The only difference in appearance was the lightning bolt shaped scar marring his forehead and the blood dripping from his nose and onto his bare torso. Tearing his gaze away from his new angelic face he followed the trail of blood that was slowly dripping down to his waistline. The blood had managed to travel over or the bumps and scars that Harry had acquired over the years being as resident in the Dursley household.

The most recent wounds were an ugly red, juxtaposed on top of his unmarred skin. He looked at them with disinterest as his front had been littered with burns and scars ever since he could remember. Though he looked at his wrist, his left wrist and saw that the mark the dagger had made from when Wormtail had sliced open his wrist had disappeared. Due to his inquisitiveness he turned around and looked at his back. To his viable disappointment the scar from when he was seven was still red and raised. It spelt out F. R. E. A. K. Running from his left shoulder blade to his right.

Anger was the emotion that filled the young adolescent, like every other time the scar became un-glamoured. Even to his superior knowledge the scar had been left unattended for too long without medical care, muggle or wizard no scar removal cream, concoction or potion could remove it. Harry's disfiguration was a reminder of a time when he was weak, when he had a lapse of concentration. Nonetheless, how was a seven-year-old boy meant to explain how his teacher's wig turned blue? Or when Piers Polkiss ran in front of that car, when he had called Harry a degrading name?

Aside from his obvious disdain from the sight of it. It also filled him with determination. Whenever he felt as if he was going to use some mutilating curse on Ronald's face or many of his fellow Gryffindor's he would think of the scar. It would help him recognize the price of certain omissions.

He wasn't seven anymore, nor was he just turning his teacher's wig blue. He was playing with the big boys. Dumbledore and Voldemort. He was and still is managing to fool them simultaneously. Harry was the epitome of Slytherin. So cunning and ambitious in fact you would never know.

And so now here he is. Examining the figure in the mirror, musing about it just being a sick joke of The Dark Lord's.

_Perhaps there was a potion or a poison of the dagger?_

Harry traced a long, pianist finger along his wrist. A pensive expression on his celestial face, thinking back to that hellish night. There was no other liquid substance on the silver dagger when the rat had pierced his skin. Peter had also sliced his arm after he had used his blood so he couldn't have picked up some parasite from the vermin's blood.

Looking up again, he scrutinized his foreign face closely. Leaning closer to the mirror he noticed the subtle differences between Tom Riddle's face and his own. Harry's jawbones were slightly softer, but only by a minuet degree. His cheeks were more sullen, evidently due to his undernourishment and his eyes were not as silted as Tom's but fairly bigger, giving off the impression of feign innocence. If it was some sick joke of Voldemort's why was he not the exact duplicate of Riddle? Stepping away from the mirror. Harry brooded over the fact that, perhaps something more sinister was taking place. It was obviously not the work of Dumbledore no, why would he what his little savior looking like _him _of all people. No defiantly Voldemort.

Sitting against the glass door of the shower he attempted to go into the depths of his mind to access his magical core. Attempting to wandlessly cast a diagnostic spell determine if there were any curses affecting him.

Once he reached his magical core, as he had done countless times prior. Harry let his magic reach his fingertips and with a pleasant tingling sensation he began to chant quietly in Latin.

"Tolle tenebrarum, Tolle tenebrarum, Tolle tenebrarum," murmured Harry softly.

Nothing, not the familiar golden glow of a detected dark curse, nothing. Stumped, Harry retracted his pull from his magical core and the pleasant tingle in his fingers vanished.

There he sat staring at the mirror, looking at the his reflection, at a lose of what to do. There was no poison running through his blood, no glamours or dark curses altering his appearance, nothing. For the first time for a diffuse amount of time, Harry began to fret. What happened to him? What _was _happening to him?

All to soon, his heart began to race and his blood started _pumping. _He brought his large hands to his temples, in an attempt calm his hastening heart. He run a hand through his obsidian hair, letting the longer locks drop down in front of his vision. It was not helping, especially since the shivering and throbbing sensation had returned. Causing his body to quaver and palpitate in agony.

Having slid down the glass shower door, Harry now lay down on the cool tiling with his right cheek on the floor.

His nose had started to bleed again. But he failed to notice; he was convulsing in torment and had a fleeting thought.

_Was this what it would like to die? 'Cause I can bloody well understand Voldemort's damn irrational fear of this oh joyous sensation!_

Another wave of agony engulfed Harry like a tsunami, causing him to spasm on the floor. It felt as if his bones were being crushed together. Crushed, molded and disintegrated together again.

This continued as long as it did last time. By the time the unknown process was finished. Harry had tear tracks running down his cheeks and his torso was covered in shiny sweat.

Once his contortions slowed down to a reasonable pace he sat up. He muscles groaned in protest as if they hadn't been used in days. Steadying himself he got up and to his relief he was back to his under-average height and his face was back to normal, round cheeks and all.

Though, there was still a two lingering features of that to be thought as Tom Riddle's. To a Wizarding passerby Harry looked like conventional Potter. He had most of the Ancient and Noble family's features, black hair, round cheeks and stoat build.

But to himself, Harry, he noticed the slight difference in looks compared to an hour ago. He no longer had the trademark bird's nest hair of the Potter's but smooth wavey, onyx hair, which cupped the edges of his rounded jawline. And had no longer need for his repugnant, charcoal glasses.

_Please Review, your feedback is sorely appreciated!_


	3. Stygian

Chapter 2

"Get up Boy!" his Aunt's unpleasant shrilly voice filled Harry's pitiful residence. It was the crack of dawn and a single ray of the early-morning sun could be seen shining through his barred window, lighting the most diminutive room embodied within No.4 Pivet drive. Said boy was sprawled across his worn, paper-thin mattress dozing, appreciating the tranquil silence that had once filled the monotonous house. Today was the boy's 15th birthday, not that anyone residing in the house ever acknowledged the date in a positive manner.

Once he had heard the numerous amounts of locks on his door open, with a groan he hefted himself off the dingy bed and stumbled to the door. His bones and muscles clicking and snapping as he stretched. He was still aching from the previous night, his spontaneous 'shape shift'. Though, at least his bones acknowledged that he was older, although they did sounded as if he was eighty instead of fifteen.

Sufficiently stretched, Harry opened the door; he stepped out into the hallway unbeknownst to himself as he turned toward the staircase his precious cousin had been wanting for that opportune moment to deliver his…most generous 'gift'.

As he, Harry descended down the stairs; Dudley managed the incredible feet of actually sneaking up behind Potter. Without majorly creaking the floorboards in the process. That is.

So once again, I continue. As Harry took to descend down the narrow staircase, an unexpected force hit him from the behind, arching his back, making him stumble and finally causing him to plunge down the stairs, at an immense speed leaving him in a crumpled heap at the bottom of stairs.

Pain shot threw his right wrist and up his arm, and the remainder his right side as he hefted himself into a slightly comfier position, but to his dismay he turned around to see his great lump of a cousin trudging down the stairs, looking particularly smug.

He found he had the most over whelming erg to sneer, but reframed from doing so, due to his better judgment. This was something Harry had learnt earlier on in life. Any reaction or acknowledgement on his part was a win to the offender: namely Dudley. It was what they wanted, expected and wasn't going to give any muggle the satisfaction in conforming to their 'social norms'.

So as Dinky Duddydums strutted down the narrow stairs, smirking in triumph, his gaze fell to the crumpled form of his cousin. He met Harry's jaded, emotionless, emerald eyes.

Suddenly his smirk faltered, _that is not, normal_. But when had his cousin ever been normal? _Must come with being I freak, I'll say! _And with that clever deduction his complacent expression returned as affluent as ever.

Inwardly, Harry sighed in exasperation. He was ever, minutely close to feeling an ounce of pity on the simpleton; he was ashamed to say he was akin to. To feel so egotistic and self-satisfied with ones self after simply sneaking up behind someone and effectively pushing them down a flight of stairs, said a lot about your accomplishments in life. And by the dense and glazed look in his muddy brown eyes, Harry could tell Dudley really didn't have a lot going for him.

His priggish expression, Harry could presuppose was due to himself admiring his overall bulkiness, the only thing that could help Dudley amount to any sort of achievement.

_All brawn and no brains, as they like to say._

Reaching the bottom of the stairs Dudley finally decided to open his distasteful mouth. Rising boldly to meet his cousin's stoic beryl gaze.

"What are ya doin' down there, ya freak? Kneelin' before your betters?" leered Dursley. Scoffing Harry replied, getting off his bum to stand in front of his elephantine cousin, "I believe the cause for me being in this unfavorable position, was due to your, unsavory amusement", straightening up his rumpled clothing and brushing off the imaginary lint Harry stalked off toward the kitchen, leaving Dudley to comprehend what unfavorable and unsavory actually meant.

Opening the wooden door to the kitchen with a sneer marring his face, he was met with the scene of Vernon pouring his own coffee and Petunia cooking breakfast, both dressed in their most formal attire.

He quirked his eyebrow in a perfect Slytherin manner. It was quite an unusual sight to walk in upon.

_Maybe the Muggles had finally gone round the loop? _

Ah. It was too good to be true as Vernon caught sight of Harry dawdling in the threshold. His beady eyes took in Harry's appearance, surprisingly noticing the change in his hair. Grunting his gaze returned to his food and began to shovel the hearty breakfast into his sizeable mouth. As you tell Vernon had a very one tracked mind.

It was most surprising how Vernon hadn't managed too stain his painfully mundane grey suit. Another one of his many talents Harry mused sarcastically.

It was only a few seconds later that Petunia looked up from the stove and said arrogantly, "If your wondering, _we've _been invited to an awards ceremony,"

That only served to confuse Harry more. What would they be doing going to an awards ceremony, Was Vernon finally recognized as being the heaviest set man in Britain that hadn't gone into cardiac arrest?

"And might I inquire for dear aunty, it must be _so prestigious_ if you are attending," Harry slurred. How he despised asking questions.

Petunia turned to Harry with yet again another complacent expression on her face. "We've been nominated for All-England's Best-Kept Lawn competition," she smirked. Harry nearly spluttered indignantly. That was a hoax if there ever was one. It was the middle of summer and extremely hot, the lawn was burnt to a crisp. God these Muggles were so oblivious sometimes it was so…irritating. And as if someone would win an award like that, let alone in the middle of Surrey.

It only left Harry wondering who and why someone would set this 'competition' up. If it was a scam, Harry couldn't have cared less, it was time Dursley was knocked down a few pegs in Harry's opinion.

No. To Harry's dismay, it was presumably not a scam or an exuberant ploy to murder the Dursleys. For a person who had both avid experiences in both the Muggle and Wizarding world he could firmly deduct that this 'nomination' was the work of some Wizarding folk.

The fact that it was also Harry's birthday and was usually about the time the Weasley's usually picked him up from this hovel, did strongly suggest the letter was written by a witch or wizard as a subtle attempt to get Harry out of the house. Why, he pondered, didn't they send him a letter saying they were going to collect him or even use the muggle telephone; weasel had ineffectively used it before. What was stopping them now?

That also brought on the issue of why he had been receiving so little conveyance. He didn't mind so much that Ronald wasn't sending any letters because his missives contained little to no word on anything Harry actually wanted to read about. Hermione on the other hand, he was starting to get a bit worried.

Hermione was the only one, beside Sirius whom he wished to converse with. She knew him, she was his only companion so to speak, Ronald was just a tag along, a third-wheel. She was so astute in her letters straight to the point. She didn't constantly talk about the Chudley Canons losing streak, I mean Harry lived with Muggles forty per cent of the year, why would he care. He didn't even follow Quidditch he just played it. A true friend would know that. And Hermione did.

If Hermione wasn't writing letters something was going on. The last correspondence Harry had received from her was so vague and rushed, so completely out of character for her it was a cause for perturbation.

That had been a week and a half ago. Hopefully this jest was the work of wizard's so he would be getting some answers soon.

"Well, what a…pleasant surprise, my deepest congratulations to you. And when will this prestigious honor be taking place?" Harry asked, his voice practically dripping in sarcasm. Not that Petunia or Vernon took any notice.

"We'll be leaving at half two, so you best be in that blasted room of yours so your uncle can lock you in," she sneered and returned back to the stove.

Harry smirked mirthfully, what a fantastic birthday present, so much better than those grey socks when he turned ten. With an uncharacteristic skip in his step Harry picked up the list of chores and began with his laborious day.

Though, the chores list was extra long today (which was to be expected) he was finished in half the time, working with new vigor. When had finally reached his room in the early evening, his bicep and deltoid muscles were aching with fatigue, much more than usual. Though nothing could sour his mood. He was leaving this godforsaken hellhole. Even though he had to enduring the overbearing prescience of Molly Weasley and her two youngest children, it was so much better than being locked in a room, gawked at like a deranged circus freak and only let out like an animal on show.

His marvelous mood only improved when he heard the tell tale signs of the Dursley's car door slamming and the familiar ignition of the car. The car idled for what seemed minutes and then finally took off.

An uncommon simile crawled its way onto Harry's face. He had the hovel alone to his house for hours, The walrus and the horse were currently on there way to Falmouth, one of the most western towns of Muggle England and Duddykins was gallivanting around Little Whinging terrorizing the younger adolescents and getting intoxicated, destroying the already limited brain cells they had left. These turn of events contrived one very happy Boy wonder. Sighing in content he let his magic flow. The sensation could only be compared to holding your breath for an extended period of time, then taking in a sweet, elongated exhalation of oxygen, soothing the burning feeling deep inside your lungs and exhaling again.

His pure light magic encompassed the entirety of his small room, singing with happiness and content. A rare sigh escaped his lips; it was not often that he felt so relaxed and uncaring.

As his magic filled the small room the locks on the door twisted and warped, until finally the door was blown off its hinges.

His smile began fully-fledged hysterical. As he walked through the threshold, he magic spread throughout the house, bulbs popped and fuses exploded as his magic tampered with the muggle's electricity. He descended down the stairs in darkness, laughing all the while, _this was turning out to be his favorite birthday yet, _he though as he made his way to the cramped kitchen to raid the muggle's fridge.

.oOo.

It was dark outside and the lights had turned on long ago when the front door of number 4 Pivet drive clicked open. A very strange group of men and women entered the derivative household. Their names were; Alastor Moody, Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks, Hestia Jones and Degulus Diggle.

It was at that same time that Harry Potter was jolted out of his sitting position slumped up against the wall of his threadbare room. He had fallen asleep waiting for their arrival and had unknowingly drifted off into the land of unconsciousness. And now he had a massive knot in his neck.

As Harry got up he cracked his neck from side to side and flourished his wand, pointing it toward the closed door. Only on the off chance, these people weren't light orientated. As expected he could hear the stairs groan in distress as the posse floundered up the staircase, towards his room, their was a bit of a shuffle and some murmuring was made beyond his hearing range, god there lack of subtlety was astounding.

Feasibly, all the locks on his door clicked open and the door flung inwardly.

"Lower your wand, boy, before you take someone's eye out, " said a low, growling voice. Harry would have scowled if there weren't currently a Lumos shining right on his face, he hated when people used Vernon's favorite nickname for him. But he knew that voice.

"Professor Moody?"

"I don't know so much "Professor"," Moody growled. "Never got round to much teaching, did I? Get down here; we want to see you properly," he lowered his wand, though not exactly sure what Moody meant, there was currently, what seemed like a lumos maxima shining right in-between his eyeballs, he could be seen just fine.

"It's all right, Harry. We've come to take you away." _Ah, Lupin, _Harry remembered, one of their better Defense teachers and apparently Harry's surrogate uncle. Not that he saw him much, or at all. It had been more than a year since he had last seen the rugged man. So putting on his sweetest, falsified smiles he could muster up, he walked through the door way and onto the small landing that was also occupied by five people, including Moody and Lupin.

"Remus? _Remus_," Harry said, relief lacing his tone of voice, he strolled toward the man and engulfed him into a bear like hug and congratulated himself as he reframed from whimpering as Remus began patted his back. The side, where he had landed on when Dudley made him tumble down the stairs earlier on during the day. "How are you, cub?" Remus whispered in his ear. That was a little creepy, Harry didn't exactly like knowing that this werewolf had claimed him as his own, but ignored it non-the less. Perhaps it was meant to be a loving gesture?

"Spiffing…and yourself?" Harry asked, even if the answer was blatantly obvious, tacking a step back he took in the werewolf's appearing. The fellow was looking as shabby as ever and despite being considered fairly young by Wizarding standards, wrinkle lines were already making an appearance along with all the scars that marred his face. Though, most noticeably were the dark smudges under his eyes. It must have been full moon recently.

Giving a sad sort of lob sided smile, he answered with a sigh, "As good as you can be in my…ah…situation," Nodding along sympathetically, Harry turned around to inspect the rest of his 'rescuers'. Expectedly Moody was only a few feet behind Lupin, looking at Harry with a look like can only be described as eyeing him up. Shifting his gaze away awkwardly, dismissing it, as he was probably just looking for dark artifacts or something as equally as prosperous, his emerald gaze fell on a man and a woman at the base of stairs. Muttering about how much he looked like James, well except for the hair, now that is. Well, that was nothing new, losing his interested almost immediately. He began to scrutinize his companions once again and his stare finally caught something mildly amusing.

A girl, presumably in her mid twenties had just tripped over the welcoming mat near the front down, falling flat on her face. However, interestingly enough when she jumped up again, scowling her hair turned into a startling shade of red and pink, then green, blue, white, black…and so on.

Harry watched bemused for a few seconds, until he heard Remus sigh. Lupin had his hand pressed up against his face, shaking his head from side to side. Apparently this was a regular occurrence. Once the girl had finished with her miniature temper tantrum, she looked up at him and gave him an impish grin "Wotcher, Harry. Dora Tonks, at your service," Tonks said and proceeded to give him curtsy. Clear surprised by her lax behavior he gave a terse huff of laughter.

"As ya ca' see ear' Harry.." Moody said grasping Harry by the shoulder rather uncomfortably. "That's Hestia Jones, one of my old Auror trainees, Degulus Diggle ol' friend of Dumbledore's and of course Nymphado…", "DON'T CALL ME NYMPHADORA!?"," and Tonks down there," he added a but more forcefully.

Harry had heard most of these names in brief passing before, but not for the life of him figure out why they would be here, since all he would be doing is travelling to the burrow. He had honestly expected the Weasels to show up again. Hopefully get stuck in the fireplace, that had been a laugh.

As if reading his thoughts Moody continued, "We'll be taking you to headquarters," he all but whispered, leaning in, a bit too close for comfort. Raising an eyebrow he asked "Headquarters for what?"

"oh, Headquarters for th…"

"Tonks SHUT IT, constant vigilance girl, haven't you learnt anything!" muttered Moody while Tonks look a little guilty.

"We best be off, Potter" Moody said pushing Harry from the lowest point of his back rather harshly. "Tonks will get ya stuff while were getting' ready outside" nodding Harry made toward the front door and into the garden.

He turned and walked the rest of the division walk outside with him. Remus approached him again and whispered in his ear "You'll be finding out soon enough, Ron and Hermione are there too. Sorry about Moody his….a bit paranoid that is" said Remus as he handed Harry his firebolt. "Where flying there aren't we, why can't we apparate or take a portkey. Wouldn't that be faster?" asked Harry.

Remus shrugged, "Dumbledore said it would be safer this way," Of course Harry mused successfully reframing from rolling his eyes. _We always listen to Dumbledore._

By the time Remus was finished covering Harry with a disillusionment charm, the group could hear the loud thumps of Tonks dragging his heavy trunk down the narrow stairway. Dora appeared in the doorway with a red beat face and sweat dripping down her brow. _Hasn't anyone heard of a feather light charm, for Merlin's sake they were wizards, were they not?_

Giving Harry a crooked smirk she rolled the trunk to where the rest of the group were waiting, attached Hedwig's cage and the trunk to her own questionable looking broomstick and waited for Moody to bark out some orders.

"Harry, you'll be following Tonks, don't lose her. We'll be traveling through the clouds and it's a bit stormy tonight," _All the more reason to take a bloody portkey_ Harry could of added, but wisely kept his mouth shut and nodded at Moody's instructions. Looking at Harry's affirmation, Moody shouted,

"If anyone dies keep on going, Harry is our number one priority! MOUNT YOUR BROOMS!" and with a subtle look at Tonks, he shot off into the onyx, overcast sky.

The flight was quite pleasurable, especially since Harry hadn't flown for at least a month. The only down side was that due to Moody's over cautiousness they ended up, what felt like they were flying over Greenland. By the time they landed outside number 8 Grimmauld place, Harry was very nearly frozen to the expensive piece of wood. Though, with a little wandless heating charm, he was as right as rain.

"Where are we?" asked Harry quietly. Lupin shook hiss head negatively. A frown marred Harry's face. He was beginning to get a little pissed at people treating him like a negligent child who would go shouting out to anyone their dirtiest and darkest secrets. Who did they take him for, Peter Petegrew?

After a short walk, apiece of old parchment was shoved beneath his nose. It read.

_No. 12 Grimmauld Place – The order of the Phoenix Headquarters._

Unexpectedly, a loud creaking sound filled the dingy street. And to Harry's amazement a large flat started to appear literally from the middle of two other apartments. Tonks was grinning at his expression. Well, it would have been prudent if he hadn't reacted to this magnificent display of magic. 

"In you go boy, stop gawking, er' could be deatheater's watchin' us this very moment!" Harry pointedly stared at Mad-eye. He probably knew deatheaters as well as any other of companions. If there had been deatheaters lurking about, they would have announced there presence already. Despite most of them being Slytherin's very few members actually possessed any amount of cunningness.

Nonetheless, Harry entered the gloomy looking house warily. All of his guard over took him, though he could of sworn Moody had tapped his arse with that walking stick of his. Creepy bastard.

To his left there was a rickety staircase obviously leading to the rest of the floors the flat contained and only a single light, lighted up the stairwell adding to the gloomy atmosphere. On the wall adjacent to him, was a portrait covered with a moldy red curtain. Nothing of great importance. Mostly though you could feel the gently hum of ancient magic and wards drumming through your body as you went further into the house. Surprisingly though, it felt comforting to Harry, which was a bit weird as the magic was obviously dark.

Focusing on the task at hand though, he continued down the dingy hallway, toward the only door, the one where the rest of the order members had entered.

Though as he was about to enter the threshold, a very plump red headed matriarch intercepted him. "Harry, dear its so good to see you," she said beamingly and engulfed into a massive hug. Tensing at the sudden physical contact, he leant slightly into the hug. Molly Weasely, the over emotional harpy.

What seemed like several awkward minutes, finally someone Harry actually wanted to see, came into his line of sight. "Sirius," he whispered. He practically pushed Molly out of the way and scrambled to his Godfather, standing only a few feet away from him.

Catching Sirius into a massive bear-like hug, similar to the one Remus had received but with actual feeling. "Harry Potter," Sirius said into his silky black hair. Pulling out of the embrace, Harry had a true smile on his face. As did Sirius. "Where's your glasses pup?" Sirius asked. The question nearly stumped him. What the hell was he supposed to say. Oh yeah Siri I turned into a miniature dark lord last night, don't worry its nothing to fret over. Momentarily baffled Harry answered, "Oh, I ordered an eye correct potion from Mr. Mulpepper's Apothecary on Diagon Alley through owl-post a couple of weeks back," answered Harry.

"Thank Merlin, you got Lily's bloody smarts kid. I tried to tell James to get to take an eye-correct potion for years! He said those ugly glasses were his trademark or something, a load of Hippogriff shit I said," Sirius said ruffling up Harry's hair a little bit. He felt himself leaning into this little ministration.

"Sirius, language! There's child around!" exclaimed Molly as she slapped Sirius hard on the back. Harry missed the dark look Sirius gave Molly, as he had begun to assess the rest of the occupants of the room, he hadn't noticed before. Standing around the long table, were a lot of people Harry had never met before. A few he recognized though were professors Mcgonagall, Flitwick and surprisingly Snape standing awkwardly next to Lupin, with his usual blank face. However, there was Ron and Ginny engaged deeply in conversation with Moody and a well-known auror Shacklepot.

He had drifted a few steps from Sirius and was about to say a polite Hello to the youngest Weasley's when Ron looked up caught his eye. There was quite a dark expression on his freckly face.

_What was that about?_

He was about to go and investigate, when Mrs. Weasley grabbed him by the arm. "You look a but peaky dear, dinner will be ready in ten minutes. Why don't you go upstairs? I think Hermione's still up there." She said. Wordlessly his gaze left Ron's face and he saw Sirius looking at Molly with a perplexing expression.

Molly was still beaming as she ushered Harry out of the kitchen and away from Sirius. Pushing him out the door and rushing him about the stairs. Looking over his shoulder he saw that she was watching him intently. "Go upstairs and be a dear, dinner will be ready soon, your room's the second on the left," she repeated again unnecessarily.

"Ok…Mrs Weasley,"

With one more smile she turned and shut the door behind herself.

There was something going here. And it was obvious Sirius or Remus weren't apart of it. They were just as clueless as he was.

He had a contemplative expression on his face as he climbed the dimly light stairwell. He would have to ask Hermione, but he secretly hoped he didn't know either. That would be downer.

He continued climbing the stairs until he came to second door on the left and opened the door and walked through the entrance.

It was silent until his ears were assaulted by the sound of Hermione's scream of, "HARRY!" and seized him into a bone-crushing hug.

Harry chuckled at her antics, he had missed her near over-bearing but caring nature. He missed his Hermione.

Hermione also found herself pulled tighter into Harry's toned chest. They stood there embraced for several minutes, basking in each other's company and finally pulled apart. Both beaming although they were both blushing a little bit.

Pulling apart, Harry took in Hermione's appearance, something was different. There was something she hadn't noticed before, since she had come to him as fast as a bullet.

"Hermione…why is your hair black?"


End file.
